And the World Comes Crashing Down
by Ebony Twist
Summary: The first time she wakes up, Pepper’s strapped to a chair and her alarm clock has come in the form of a barrel gun connecting with her cheek.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This story is an AU challenge response in which Pepper accompanied Tony for the Jericho demonstration, and the resulting fallout. Enjoy!

Summary: When the rest of the world is beyond your reach, who else can you hold on to?

--

"Is it true you went twelve for twelve with last year's Sports Illustrated cover models, sir

"Is it true you went twelve for twelve with last year's Maxim cover models, sir?"

Beside Tony Stark, Pepper resists snorting into the bottle of water she snagged at the base, instead choosing to roll her eyes with as much dignity as possible. Focusing her eyes back on her blackberry, she decides the more productive choice is to check up on the fifty two e-mails she's acquired in the time it's taken her boss to present his latest invention with his usual aplomb, picking her way through fan mail, semi-important meetings, important meetings, and extremely important meetings. Still, her lips can't help but twitch at the comment about the twins and when Tony drops an arm over her shoulder to include her in the picture, Pepper gives a small, ignored protest that remains unheard among Tony joking about gang signs and peace with the boy who couldn't be a day over twenty with that sort of wide-eyed admiration for the infamous Mr. Tony Stark, her own remarks drowned out by arguments about how to handle the camera.

"Mr. Stark, I really don't believe-"

The sky flashes with light, blinding Pepper and cutting her off mid-sentence.

"Just click it, don't change any-"

But whatever argument the soldier was about to make disappears among crashing booms and the pain of Tony's hand squeezing into her shoulder as he yanks her towards his body with all the force of the bombs exploding a few feet ahead.

--

The next few minutes feel surreal for him, almost like he's watching the events from the comfort of his workshop, feet propped up at his desk and the volume blaring in his ears. Except Pepper's not normally clutched to his body like a lifeline when he watches movies and even he normally doesn't like his noise this ear-shattering, and with those simple smatterings of logic, he slams back into reality just as the boy with the camera jumps out of the car and into the fire. The panic that grips him feeds him adrenaline and fear, enough that when the kid who had just been staring at him like some little boy who'd just met his hero suddenly becomes a soldier he grasps forward, pleading for a gun, before he's gone too, blown to bits and smattered against a broken window.

"Tony, oh god, we have to move-"

Pepper's voice chokes, and he can feel her body shaking against his and suddenly the panic goes from disorienting to overwhelming. One arm firmly wrapped around her waist, he shoves the door open and drags her forward, away from the bombs and the gunshots and the destruction, back behind a craggy rock where they crouch for a few seconds of peace until his eyes catch on the machinery laying on the ground and for a second he's back in his workshop and this has to be some sort of weird, crazy movie-dream brought on by having too much scotch and cold Chinese food at three in the morning before going off to sleep.

Then reality comes crashing through once again and he has seconds before he's shoved Pepper behind him and they're flying through the air, only not really, because they've crashed to the ground and why does everything hurt so much? Dazed, he stares down at his chest and there's red seeping through his shirt and a part of him wonders if that's blood, or maybe he's just seeing the strawberry hair that's covering his vision too, the sweet scent of flowers mixing in with dust and blood and scotch. His fingers stop grasping at his chest then so he can see if Pepper's alright because suddenly she's the only thing he can focus on and he's not really sure why, but he'll leave that thought until later because even worrying about her has begun to hurt his head and he needs to see her face before the blackness takes over completely.

Her freckles are stark against the pale skin of her face and there's a gash on her forehead that looks nasty but she's breathing because he can feel her chest rising up and down against his hand, the only solid feeling in the haze his mind's started to sink into. Contentment that she's okay fills him, fills him enough that when the blackness starts seeping back forward he lets himself fall asleep to the rhythm of her chest beneath his head.

--

The first time she wakes up, Pepper's strapped to a chair and her alarm clock has come in the form of a barrel gun connecting with her cheek. She thinks grimly that it will leave a mark, but that's the least of her worries because one of her captors grabs her shoulders to shake her, demanding answers to questions she can't understand and then he grins and runs a hand down her cheek, caressing the bruised, battered skin with all the familiarity of an old lover.

Pepper responds in a way she thinks Tony would have been proud of, and when the gun smashes into her skull once more, she can still hear the echoing, furious screams from when she bit his hand.

--

The first time he wakes up, he's stuck between dreams and reality, or more like nightmares either imagined or tangent. Fire runs through his veins, and he bucks, clawing against hazy captors and burning, bright lights. It takes a few seconds for his drug-clouded mind to coldly identify the harsh, piercing shouts as his own and the part of his brain that has always been just logarithms and algorithms and sequences classifies the identification away like he's just discovered x and now he only needs y, z, and maybe a formula for them all to fit into. The pain in his chest just increases, though, and soon what coherency he has left has drifted away, just like his thoughts, dripping through his hands as he grasps onto them, except they're like sand and soon his hands are empty and so's his head and he's back to fevered dreams filled with lullaby screams and strawberry hair that drips blood.

--

The next time his jumbled thoughts decide to make some sort of logical sense, a plain sack has just been yanked off his head and he's staring at an old-fashioned video camera while a thick Middle-Eastern accent dictates in some foreign language. The unflappably scientific part of his brain labels the scene as a 'ransom demand,' or something along those lines and that becomes filed away next to his panicked, wild screams and an intense need to know that his assistant hadn't managed to get caught in the shrapnel blast too.

Even now, though, his thoughts are moving too sluggishly to do him any good and the sack's back on his head before he can get past a vague sense of terror. Now, though, he's falling back into blackness that calls him into dreams of fire and bodies and little boys fighting against the impossible.

Later, he will wish to go back to those dreams because even they are better than what has become his reality.


	2. Chapter 2

This time when his eyes heavily fight open, the fog that has morphed his mind's nearly gone, and all that's happened lays out logically across his brain, a diagram for him to analyze like he's been given the blueprints for some new design and now he just has to build the facts together in his mind. Fingers left on autopilot yank out a breathing tube while the rest of his mind hunts for the answer to a missing formula, fumbling to piece together x, y, and z into something sensible and coherent.

Then his eyes snap open and they're richoting wildly in all directions as he jolts up, panic taking over like it's never before. The wires and the car battery and the man get filed away too because all he wants to see is Pepper because wasn't she with him when the bomb, or whatever it had been, had gone off? Except there's no curling auburn hair or bright azure eyes to meet his gaze, and Tony collapses back against the metal table with all the dignity of a homeless drunk.

The panic slips away through his fingers and the diagram pops back into place, except there's new factors that require immediate attention, foremost the car battery and the wires sticking out of his chest. But first his eyes land on the cup of water next to his makeshift bed, except his shaking hands drop it before he can even lift the metal can more than a few inches and when he leans forward to grasp at the falling, sweet salvation, pain fills his chest once again, tugging him backwards.

"I would not do that if I were you."

Slowly, Tony gazes at the man before his words sink in and the reason for his suddenly restricted movement clicks into place. The fear floods him again, but this time a little more diluted because he can handle stupid plugs and wires, even if they are sticking out of his chest. The bandages tear easily beneath tearing, jagged nails, but once they're gone he wishes that he could go back to not knowing what lay beneath.

Gulping at greedy grasps of air, he lies still while everything that has happened sinks into his brain, painting themselves into a reality that he thinks might be more at place with maybe some sort of demented horror film, the kind he used to watch as a kid and point out all the reasons why Frankenstein couldn't really be made of human body parts and why changing into a bat was just fucking dumb. Of course, even those images can't distract him for long and he knows he'll have to face the strange, humming man soon, so he might as well start with the most dire questions and work his way down.

"Where's Pepper?"

"Who? You were the only one brought; I don't believe any others were taken."

The man looks genuinely confused, and the panic swells again before he shoves it back down. That's good news, damn it, Pepper's not here in this stupid hole-in-the-wall cave with just him and the car battery that's taken over her job of running his life for company. The part of him conjuring forward images of dead Pepper, or Pepper with some hole in her chest too, or even worse, Pepper locked away and tortured promptly gets shut away before he can start to analyze the staccato beats of panic that fill his chest when he thinks about the red-haired sprite who's also his assistant and quite possibly one of the only people in the world he might actually be able to call a friend.

Next question, then.

"What the hell did you do to me?"

This time, the man just looks plain amused and Tony wonders why he sounds so god damn calm when they're sitting in a cave and he's got a car battery sticking out of his chest.

"What I did? What I did was to save your life. I removed all the shrapnel I could, but there's a lot left and it's headed into your atrial septum."

He's searching for something, only Tony can't quite see from his vantage point and lugging around a weight the size of his chest doesn't seem like a particularly great reward to see some old man hunt around boxes of what looks like scrap metal.

"Here, want to see? Have a souvenir," his voice sing-songs towards the end with a note just short of mocking and it's all Tony can do to sit still and patiently wait for the small, glass jar to come to him. "Take a look."

In the dim light of the cavern, the metal shards sparkle when he turns their container this way and that, a personal exhibit starring the missing pieces of the shrapnel that's currently floating around his bloodstream.

"I've seen many wounds like that in my village," he continued, acting for all the world as if they were making small talk at some gala or conference, "We call them the walking dead because it takes about a week for the shards to reach the vital organs-"

"What is this?"

The hand clamped around the glass bottle shakes, but he's sick of tip-toeing around the actual issues at hand, especially when those issue involve parts of his anatomy that according to this guy will be gone within a week.

"That is an electromagnet. Hooked up to a car battery. And it's keeping the shrapnel from entering your heart."

He'd allowed himself the albeit brief illusion of hoping that all his talk about the shrapnel had been just small talk, or maybe even shadowed threats, and that the wires and the battery and apparently the electromagnet's purpose lay in an incentive so he'd do whatever the hell they'd ask him to, but now even that sliver of light had been blacked out, crushed underneath mocking, weighted words from a man whose smiles had been sharpened to a razored edge and whose words fell just short of bitter despair.

Nausea rising, Tony glanced away. His vision met with the blinking red light of a video camera, focused right in their direction. Disgust swarmed forward, mixing with shock at being recorded like some fucking zoo exhibit.

_Tony Stark. Also known as the merchant of death, among other names. Activities include girls, booze, and mechanics. Currently being kept alive by a fucking car battery due to shrapnel from his own bomb,_ the snarky part of him murmured, tone as mocking as the man's.

"That's right. Smile."

He lifted his gaze towards the man once again, fairly sure now that it was only a matter of time before he emptied his guts, or at least tried to.

"We met once, you know. At a technical conference in Berlin," he continued, going back to tinkering among the scraps littering the cave. Tony scourged his memory, but he could no longer remember his face than he could recall the name of the last girl he'd slept with, some reporter from some magazine, one face in an assembly line of hundreds.

"I don't remember."

His words sound dead, no more than harsh, jarring noises that rock his aching scalp. A part of him wonders if the rest of his body's already begun to die down, pierced by metal and scathing truths and unrelenting fear in the face of the unknown, and he almost laughs at the irony of it all.

"Well, you wouldn't. If I had been that drunk, I wouldn't have been able to stand, much less give a lecture on integrated circuits-"

"Where are we?" he starts, cutting him off mid-sentence.

He can't, just can't listen to some stranger babble on about conferences he probably didn't even want to be at in places that he can't even remember. This is one issue he doesn't want to dance around, to avoid with cutting remarks and sarcastic quips, one he can't afford to dance around if he even wants to hold onto the slim hope he'll make it out of here without a coffin.

But apparently he's not the only one who doesn't want to listen to pointless babble.

Next thing he knows, the man's yanking him to his feet, panic shining through his every harried, fear-driven gesture.

"Stand up! Stand up! Do as I do. Come on, put your hands up!"

Waves of dizziness surge through his battered body once more, taking an iron will and molding rare complacency from a man who normally walks to his own tune. Swallowing, Tony stumbled forward just in time to watch three armed men stride into the room, his vision narrowing in on what felt like the proverbial shove down the rabbit hole, confusion and nausea fighting for dominance as he struggled to match what he was seeing with what he knew.

_This isn't possible,_ he thought, _Not fucking possible_.

"Those are my guns, how did they get my guns?"

Ignoring the words of warning from his apparent companion, Tony lifted his focus to the bellows of what he assumed was the leader, his logical side keying in on his name paired with what sounded like a garbled attempt at America. Those facts were shuffled away to, only to be dumped in the junk bin when translations came instead.

"He says welcome Tony Stark. The most famous mass murderer in the history of America."

That one was new. Had he not been fighting with the nightmare that had become his reality, he might have even liked the nickname, joked about how much cooler that sounded than Merchant of Death before slinging out something wildly inappropriate about what else he'd like to be famous for and with who.

"He's honored."

_Great. Maybe they just wanted some autographs?_ he quipped, fighting back fear.

But even he couldn't laugh inwardly at what ranked among his crappiest, worst-timed jokes, despite not having left the confines of his head, right up next to the drunken come-on he'd made to Pepper right after some relative had died about a year or two after she'd started working for him. Afterwards, he'd been surprised see hadn't quit then and there, though having to deal without her for a week had been fair come back.

"He wants you to build the missile. The Jericho missile that you demonstrated."

He stared at the picture, fairly certain that he had to wake up soon, that this couldn't be happening. How the hell had they gotten that picture, let alone his guns?

How the hell had they even gotten him here?

"This one."

For a few seconds, he wondered what would happen if he agreed. Would they let him go free? Was he even naïve enough to believe that load of bull if they even did say that? Sliding his gaze over the room, Tony Stark mustered up every ounce of courage he possessed before boldly claiming what could very well be his last, coherent words.

"I refuse."

--

"Get up."

This time, a solid kick to the stomach sends awareness jolting through her body, hot-wiring her from the tips of her fingers to her toes. Choking for air, Pepper wonders for a panic-filled moment why her eyes aren't opening until the realization that her surroundings are simply pitch black sinks in instead. Scanning what she can see in the dim light, all she can make out are the sharp edges of what she's fairly sure might be a wall and the heavy combat boots that have just become intimately acquainted with her vital organs.

"I will not ask again. Get up."

She manages to get up to a crouch using the sheer determination and strength of will she's built up over the years as Tony Stark's personal assistant before she and the foot rendezvous once again and then she's hit the wall with all the force of a truck colliding with concrete. The next thing she can tell, her body's been lifted several feet higher than before and the daze of her mind wryly comments that maybe after struggling with the impossible for so long, she's finally learned to fly too. For no particular reason, maybe from the shock or what's probably become a concussion or even sheer, stark terror, Pepper finds the thought hysterically funny and the giggle that leaks from her mouth bursts into a bubble of blood that lands on the probing face of the man with the cold, harsh eyes and unrelentingly firm voice.

He flashes her a calculating smile and suddenly, Pepper's pain-filled mind can no longer quite remember what was so funny.

"Now then, Miss Potts. It appears we're going to need your help after all."

With a confidence and anger that brews surely in her stomach, Pepper manages to give as scathing an answer as possible, one she's honed over the years into a fine-edged blade, except it comes out much too quiet and weak and not at all as defiant as she'd remembered sounding during what seems a lifetime ago.

"No."

In fact, once she starts to scream, she finds herself hard-pressed to remember anything at all past the blinding panic and mind-numbing aches as she connects with his fists and the wall until all that's left is the heady scent of blood and sweat and tears, and underneath it all, the last vestiges of scotch and grease and something that makes her think briefly of Tony Stark before everything goes dark.

--

Water fills his vision, again and again, submerging him into the azure haze that merges with crimson streaks, streaks that are his blood, swirling in the water that fills his vision until nothing makes sense except the blue and the red and the gasping, choking need for-

_Air_.

He greedily gulps in as much as he can, eyes wide and stark against the room's pitch darkness, but then relief disappears again, and he's submerged back into the blue, blue haze with the red streaks of blood.

The world stops making sense yet again, and he sees cold and feels crimson with blue and there are so many sights and sounds flashing before his eyes, images that blur into one picture and screams that become one endless gasp of terror.

That one damn memory lies just out of reach, walking away on stiletto heels that tap ominously in his ears, clicking farther and farther beyond his grasp. Time stopped making sense hours, days, minutes ago, and now all he can do is watch as the blue bleeds into red and the burning, choking need for air consumes him, blurring all together into curling, strawberry hair and eyes as clear and azure as the ocean that he thinks his house once crashed into, or did the ocean crash into his house?

Nothing fits anymore, except the pain and the haze and empty, burning feeling of his heart, or maybe his lungs from the lack of air, but why does he want to know where the burning comes from? He should try to fix it, fix that problem like he fixed-

What else has he fixed? He tries to remember, to focus, but all that comes are thoughts, brief and fleeting before they dance away, dance away to the sounds of his screams and the harsh, confusing words of his captors.

There were wires, long and curling and prodding, prodding like the pain underneath his skin until all that's left is fire, fire that feels so soft between his fingertips, wrapped around his callused knuckles and smelling distinctly feminine and dripping what might be blood.

For a moment, the red and the blue become one and he sees her face, though he can not say exactly who she is, except that she is someone special to him, more important than everything else that has held his attention until now, and a name rolls to his mind, sweet and spicy and all that he has underneath that chilling water.

For a moment, the screams and the gasps become a legible word, one that echoes through his ears and his heart until he wants the sheer, undiluted terror to stop, so he struggles more, fighting and tearing against the pain, hazy and cold and burning throughout his very core, just to put an end to that horror-filled shriek.

For a moment, he sees Pepper, not smirking or laughing or even leaning casually against his desk, voice mouthing off part of his endless schedule, but face frozen with fear, tears running hot and fast down her cheeks and her eyes pleading with him from a distance so far away he can not reach her even with his best efforts. His name rolls off her lips, but there is no sweet caress in her voice, just terror, stark and clear against the muffled sounds he has become used to between the confusion and the pain.

For a moment, he wants nothing more than to hold her in his arms, to keep her face in his mind's eye so he can forget about the darkness and fire and the blue that melts into red while his lungs burst from no air.

He holds onto her for a moment longer, and than the water fills his vision once more before the world goes black.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own them outside of wild fantasies...

--

She's dying.

That's the first thought that springs to her mind once awareness begins to seep through the never-ending aches and blistering heat. She _has_ to be dying because there's no other rational explanation for the throbbing ball of pain that might have been her body at some point. Groaning, Pepper creaked open her eyes, vaguely aware that all she's seeing out of her left orb's a slim sliver of light, one that's piercing her cranium with enough force to send aching throbs throughout her skull.

She's _definitely_ dying, she thinks and then her world flips around once more, leaving her breathless and disoriented.

"Time to go, Miss Potts," a voice thunders, the words rolling together into one incomprehensible mass of syllables, a foreign language to her pounding mind. An iron grip jerks her towards her feet, though her legs drag more than stumble forward once he starts to move, the bare soles colliding with jagged rocks and pebbles.

Clenching her teeth, Pepper tried to remember what's happened, memories piercing together with an abominable, unforgivable slowness. There had been some sort of presentation, hadn't there?

On the…

The Jericho missile?

_That's right,_ she thought, _I was going to let Tony go alone because…because of what?_

There had been a special occasion, some important event she hadn't wanted to miss. It had been…

Pepper's eyes narrowed in concentration, before cutting off her train of thought with a breathless gasp and a sharp jolt of pain. Tripping, Pepper's captor kept up his relentless pace, dragging her past shadowed corners and leering eyes, the stench of festering bodies and the coppery tang of dried blood filling her nose and mouth. Concentration lost, Pepper's scattered thoughts fumbled out of reach yet again, leaving her alone in the jumbled mess of her mind, agony searing a ruthless path through her body.

Then, her captor halted his tirade, feet digging into dirt with enough force to send her reeling into the wall, the air driven from her lungs.

"Now then, Miss Potts," he murmured, pinning her with browned, callused palms. Here, she could see the sweat pooling down his naked forehead, the manic gleam to his piercing, chestnut eyes. Here, she was trapped, a cornered animal in a foreign world with no way out.

"Here is what will happen," he continued, "Mr. Stark has unfortunately refused our demands once. With your life as part of our _generous_ bargain, I doubt he shall make the same mistake."

He paused, eyes boring into hers. Gasping in shuddering breaths, Pepper forced herself to pay attention, to thread together the deep, guttural whispers of sound weaving through her skull. Clenching the tattered, ebony remains of her pantsuit in her fist, Pepper dredged up the coherency to respond, memories flooding back as they painted a fearsome picture through her mind's eye.

"That won't work," she croaked, cursing hell and high water that Obadiah had specifically requested she accompany her boss on what should have been and in-and-out operation, a two-minute stop on the speedway that was Tony Stark's life.

"I'm-I'm only Mr. Stark's assistant," she continued, trying to block out the faded touch of Tony's arm wrapped firmly around her shaking form, the heat of his body searing through her skin and her terror. "He won't care. You'd have better luck threatening his last hook up. They get closer than I ever have."

Iron laced her last words, bringing back old steel to her spine and eyes. Damn it, she was Pepper Potts, and she would not let herself be used as some whimpering damsel in distress with no purpose other than as a sniveling, bruised bargaining chip.

Instead of cowering, though, his grin simply broadened and for a moment, fear spiked through her, leaving behind the bitter dregs of terror bound with panic.

"I believe I will differ," he whispered, breathe hot against her face, "For personal reasons, you will find."

For a moment, they stood at an impasse, Pepper's hands grabbling against the ragged surface of the wall before her quivering legs gave out from under her. The smile tugging at his lips widened, giving her a second of warning before he leaned in, lips a hairs breadth away from her own.

"You will play the part you have been given, Miss Potts," he murmured, raising a callused finger to trace a trail down her cheek, "And if you do not…"

His hand reeled forward, snapping her face towards the wall and leaving behind the fragile start of an aching bruise.

"Well, I am certain my men shall find some use for you."

--

Stumbling over rocks and his own feet, orientation came slowly for him. Dust dominated the feeble supply of oxygen filling his lungs, leaving in its wake hacking coughs and watering eyes. Too sluggish for his own likes, the puzzle pieces of his life fit together again, meshing together in ways nothing else would. There'd been his half-assed presentation, practiced theatrics covering what sunglasses and four Tylenols couldn't, and then his favorite brand of hair of the dog with only the resonating clash of AC/DC and the familiar click of Pepper's typing to cover what in retrospect was probably a foreboding silence.

After that, his memory went a little hazy; the stiletto beats of his heart and the numbing taste of fear filling in the blanks.

With an all too abrupt halt that left him fairly sure his stomach was still being dragged on ahead, the starch bag covering his head flew up, leaving the gut-clenching truth of the presentation's aftermath as stark and blinding as the sun searing across his eyelids. Breath gone from his chest, Tony plodded forward long enough to soak in the heat blistering over his skin before another hand clamped around his bicep to whirl his face back towards the mouth of the cave.

There, Tony saw what he half-hoped was a figment of his imagination, half-prayed was as tangent as the car battery weighing down his hands.

A burden he hadn't even known existed lifted from his chest in that minute, replaced with the cooling touch of relief and the acrylic bite of anger meshed with fear. The steel-lined spine of Pepper Potts had been bent, and for a brief moment he thought that the impossible, indomitable will of what had been his driving force for years had broken. Then, he caught sight of the strength lurking behind her gaze and knew that the only wounds that had pierced were the ones he could see with his own eyes, wounds that started up a slow boil in his stomach.

--

Like an avenging angel, Pepper strode towards Tony, sheer determination making up for battered limbs and the fingers gripping her wrist. Raza – whether that was a title or a name, she wasn't quite sure – had followed up his threats by continuing his rampage towards what she now saw as the mouth of the cave, barking orders out in a variety of languages, most of which she couldn't recognize as more than Eastern in origin.

The fact that her heart's beats became staccato notes once she saw Tony was nothing more than relief, and certainly not fear at the start of the game she had become a part of.

"Tony Stark," he announced, dragging her to his chest, "I have a small _gift _for you."

She tried locking eyes with him, but while Pepper knew she held Tony Stark's full attention for one of the few times in her life, his gaze didn't quite settle on her. If she had ever wondered what it would be like to have Tony's eyes run over her body, skim his canyon-deep gaze along her curves and pliant skin – and she had, though she'd immediately banished the thought as if it had never happened – it had not been like this. Not with a look she could never remember seeing before seething through his eyes, eyes filled with fury and shock and fear and something almost like confusion.

She felt his breathe glide along her neck, raising hairs despite the obvious heat. In that place, the reality of his fingers imprinting into her skin and his stench filling her nose overpowered her, and she could almost imagine the smile playing along his face at his next words.

"Consider it an opening payment for our bargain."

Then, Pepper went flying forward once again, only this time with no jagged walls to stop her flight.

--

The tick in his jar and clenched fist, nails digging white crescents into his palms, served as his response. The fury building beneath his stomach allowed no other answer. When he shoved Pepper forward unceremoniously, Tony lunged to catch her, one arm tightening her waist as he entangled his fingers in the ragged, unbound strands of her hair, half of his body held stiffly beside her with the car battery in hand. Breathing in the familiar scent of flowers, masked by the copper tang of blood and the stench of dust, the knot in his stomach loosed, reassured by what sight alone could not comfort.

Until he'd seen her face, alive and as fiery as the last, Tony hadn't quite known how much of his panic stemmed from the distinct lack of Pepper in his life.

"Come," the smaller, fatter man announced, gesturing towards the mouth of the cave before trudging forward.

The guns at his back provided enough reason to follow, however grimly and however slow. Only then, hobbling forward with one hand encircling Pepper's waist, did Tony notice his apparent roommate, the man eyeing them with an unrecognizable look. Later, he promised, he would question more deeply what had just happened.

--

Outside, sand stretched as far as the eye could see, an impenetrable prison built by nature's own hands. The chill rushing down her beck sent a grimace to her face, cold breathing down her neck in spite of the swelling heat. Up until now, she'd held onto the slim hope of escape, but to where? Dune's held under the tumultuous winds control? Caves their captors likely knew as home?

Suddenly, in spite of the Tony's reassuringly firm hand on her waist, Pepper fell back into fear's embrace, her fingers clenching on Tony's wrist.

Wincing, Tony tore his gaze away from whatever entrancing sight he'd laid eyes on, piercing Pepper with dark eyes.

"Are you all right?" he murmured, "Did-"

He caught himself, green tinting his too pale face.

"Did they hurt you?"

She almost wants to laugh at the way he stumbles over his words, choked whispers replacing the normal eloquence of Tony Stark. She's also fairly sure that's the shock talking, the part of her still convinced this is a terrible, terrible dream, that she didn't just spend her birthday knocked out in the middle of the desert, covered with sand and blood and a tattered suit instead of a backless silk dress and her favorite, over-priced perfume.

Her first instinct wars to protect him, to answer no, but if the bruises haven't blossomed already, they will, and most of all, he needs to be prepared that she's become the other side's best bargaining chip, a turn even she still struggles to admit.

But if Pepper's always been anything, it's logical, and she can look at the situation either like it's a boardroom meeting or an old 50s flick, both versions give her the same answer.

'They just knocked me around a bit," she replied, first instinct dominating enough to soften the blow, "Nothing more than that."

Just beat her to the point she didn't know up from down, until laughter bubbled instead of sobs and reality shifted towards kaleidoscope dreams. That had been all. But as usual, her job and her life, as it had become, was the well-being of one Tony Stark, which meant that as long as they were here, keeping the worst from happening mattered the most now.

She knew she was off-the-clock. She knew that, but she also knew just as inexplicably that her gut instinct, first and foremost, had been to protect.

She didn't want to – refused to – think about what that meant or why she was still following that instinct.

Breaking her eyes away from his unfathomable stare, Pepper took in what had held his attention for those first seconds outside and felt her own breath lock outside of her chest.

"Oh god," she whispered, broken nails digging into Tony's muddied skin, "Oh god, oh god, _please_ tell me that's not what I think it is."

Tony didn't respond, just gripped her waist hard enough to leave marks.

Stark Industry Weapons filled the tents in front of them, a veritable amount that could easily take down an entire city if she recognized them accurately. Most she remembered as newer prototypes, weapons from Tony's last line that hadn't included the new repulsor technology. Scattered here and there were older models too, one or two back from when she'd just started as Tony's assistant, metal rusted and dull with age. People milled through them with the ease and quick footsteps of shoppers on Rodeo Drive, all their gazes inevitably flickering to the flaming brightness known as Tony Stark.

Somehow, the familiarity of the scene just added to the impossibility of the here and now.

When their guide began to talk, albeit in garbled Arabic, relief blossomed at the distraction from the frightening land mine they were strolling along through.

"He wants to know what you think," a man questioned, so close to her ear that Pepper gasped at the unfamiliar voice. Squirming, she pinned her eyes on the battered form of a man, weariness clinging to his frame like an old friend, shadowing his eyes and his words. Whoever he was, this was a man who'd given up hope, allowed bitterness to harden his every movement in ways Pepper had never seen before.

Whoever this man was, she knew he wasn't one of their captors.

"I think you've got a lot of my weapons," Tony replied, poker face in place. His grip on her waist hadn't slackened, if anything, grown stronger, but that was the only glimpse she could get into his hardened eyes.

More Arabic followed. More calm translations with all the personality of an automated recorder. More dark looks.

"He says, um, they have everything you need to build the Jericho missile. He wants you to make the list of materials. He says, uh, for you to start working immediately and when you're done, he will set you both free."

Tony's eyes went black for a second and a bitter grin curled at his lips before he shook their smiling captor's hand.

"No he won't," he announced, clinging her closer.

"No he won't," the man agreed politely, blandly.

The words had barely left Tony's mouth when she felt the butt of a rifle digging into her back once again. Back into the cave they went, her spine tense and rigid against his skin, his jaw firm and severe in the sun's light, neither of them ready to handle words over actions.

Overhead, Raza watched on.

--

Remember, reviews are appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own them outside of wildly vivid fantasies...

--

"I'm sure they're looking for you, Stark," the stranger articulated. He paused, darting a quick glance at her before amending the statement, "_Both_ of you. But they will never find you in these mountains."

Ever since their return to the cave, their mystery companion hadn't stopped talking, taking Tony's forlorn silence for defeat, defeat she prayed didn't actually exist. If she knew him as well as she thought she did, then Tony's focus centered on getting them out of here, on living past the week-long deadline he had until the battery ran out of power, sending shards of shrapnel-

_No_.

She refused to think about that now, refused to think about the way he'd gently told her why he'd been lugging around a car battery attached to his chest, the way bitterness tinged his voice and his eyes blackened before he'd closed them, tilting his head back and gritting his teeth, in pain or frustration she hadn't known.

Thinking about _that_ meant loosing both her ability to breathe and her fragile hold on a shaking façade of calm.

Leaning her head forward to rest on the palms of her hands, she hissed when her fingers skimmed along the shallow welt cutting across her hairline.

The stranger – she really should be figuring out his name and who the hell he was – didn't stop rambling, but Tony's eyes stopped drilling into the room's dark corners long enough to pin her with the same unrecognizable look as when they'd reunited. Blankly, he stared at her for a few never-ending seconds before the spark of concern lighting in his eyes flared down at the next part in this eternal, one-sided conversation.

"What you just saw," the stranger continued, firm desperation tinting his voice with frustration, "That is your legacy, Stark. Your life's work in the hands of those _murderers_! Is that how you want to go out?"

Nausea rose in her throat the longer he spoke, fury building in her gut. This – this _man_ spoke with the bitter coolness of digging deep for a reaction, hunting for a response. He didn't see Tony flinch imperceptibly at his words, the sting in his eyes and the weary clench of his fist. He didn't see the pain in his opaque gaze, just the drive to motivate however wrongly, and the slumped shoulders of an exhausted, battered man.

"Is this the last act of defiance," he exploded, disgust washing over his face, "Of the _great_ Tony-"

"I believe," she exhaled, simmering anger lacing her words, "You've made your point."

He stopped then. Looked at her. _Really_ looked at her, not the discreet glances he'd sent her way since the start and had first discreetly skimmed his dark eyes across her face. Had this been another man, another day, his searching gaze would've made her squirm uncomfortably, sent her subtly bringing closer the lapels of her blazer and calculating the most efficient way to get him out of her hair. His eyes hungrily searched her features, yes. But for one of the rare times in her career, Pepper was sure his gaze wasn't searching for improper reasons.

Up until now, she had barely been a factor in the equation, an insignificant fly compared to the hulking giant of Tony Stark. Up until now, he hadn't seen her as someone capable of impacting their situation, just the quickest way to obedience and his worst hope.

From the evaluating look in his eyes, Pepper thought that opinion had begun to change.

"I shouldn't even do anything," Tony interrupted, voice monotone, "They're going to kill me, you, Pepper, either way, and if they don't, I'm going to be dead in a week-"

A crack echoed through the cave, the sharp sting of her hand slapping his face.

Both men stared at her then, the stranger with something almost like admiration lurking in his gaze while Tony had been rendered speechless.

"Don't you ever, ever, ever, _ever_ say something like that again," she seethed, hand shaking and eyes wide against her harried face, "_Ever_. You have never done what you've been told the entire time I have known you, and don't you dare start now, or so help me, I will never – I will –"

Her voice cut off then, sobs choking her words back. Everything, _everything_, was crashing into her now, ramming her strength into the ground and crushing her lungs in her chest. The cave lay silent; the echoes of her palm against Tony's cheek the last sounds before her vice had fled her chest.

"Stop – stop talking like that," she murmured, gripping the rock beneath her hard enough to bruise, scratching her hands on the jagged edges, "You – _we_ – are not going to die here."

--

After the few eternal minutes of pained quiet, Tony broke the weight hanging over them all. Reaching out his hand, he entwined his fingers with Pepper's, pulses fluttering beneath bruised skin. Within his chest, his heart – or what was left of it – pounded painfully, throbbing and clenching at the way Pepper's frame shook, her hand quivering against his and droplets dripping down her face. Guilt slammed into him then, guilt and the sort of self-hatred he'd gotten used to burying away, ignoring like he ignored Rhodey's jabs about how screwy his life had become and sullen thoughts about living up to his parent's legacies.

The guilt wasn't quite as bad, though, as the ache in his chest or the numbing twinge of his face.

"Listen, Pep," he murmured, "I'm – I'm going to get us out of here, all right? I promise."

Quiet, inexplicable fury had firmly replaced the self-pitying crap filling his gut only moments ago, motivating him to start hunting for an actual fucking answer. Thumb sweeping across her wrist, the part of his mind that lay with machines and logarithms more naturally than with human beings began the systematic search that would save them.

A few moments later, a plan had begun to spark in his mind.

Jumping up, Tony strode towards the steel doors barricading them inside the cave. Pepper gasped behind him, but he ignored it in favor of his new goal. For the first time since this whole twisted farce had began, the manic seed of hope and a new idea had actually begun to grow, and god damn it, he was going to take advantage of it.

"Hey!" he shouted, slamming his fist down to the metal, "Hey, you want your fucking missile? I'm gonn'a need a helluva better workshop than this shithole you've got!"

Nothing.

"Hey, you listening to me?" he roared, ramming his palm against the door, "Hey, you fucking bastards, I know you've got that video camera and you've been watching us, so if you want your damn missile, get your ass in here so I can actually have a place to fucking work!"

He knew this probably wasn't the best way to start out his plan, but it felt _so _good to just go on impulse and honestly, since this whole shenanigan had begun, the weight in his hands and in his chest had been filling him to the brim with the sort of despair and hopelessness he hadn't known since he'd been eighteen, teetering on the brink between boy and man and watching as his entire life crumbled beneath his feet. The fact that last time's result had ended with him drunk, stumbling around some backseat alley before making that night a weekly habit, except now it ended with his limo and some girl trailing kisses down his neck before trying to jack him off, didn't really matter to him.

The stranger's hand clamped down on his shoulder, fingers digging into sore skin with a wiry strength he couldn't have guessed lay beneath the man's wry exterior. Lingering behind, Pepper hovered on the edge, hands gripping the sorry excuse for a skirt hanging around her legs.

"They should arrive with foodin a few hours, based on the sun's position when we were outside," the man muttered, shock and sly amusement fighting to dominate his expression. He didn't miss the slight emphasis on the word food, nor the disgusted twist of his lips, "If you can wait that long, of course, for your workspace."

To the side, Pepper snorted and he flashed her a familiar, upturned quirk of his mouth. Their eyes linked, and for a moment, Tony felt his stomach drop in a way that had become obnoxiously familiar whenever she gave him that tentative, amused smile, face lighting up with poorly hidden affection. Why, he'd ignored - so far, he'd been content with the warm glow it gave him and the knowledge that at least there were some people left in the world who cared about him. He didn't want to - didn't dare to - think any farther than that. _Especially_ now.

"So, you have any blueprint sheets I can use?" he asked their companion, tearing his gaze away.

Inside, that warm glow fed the fire sparked.

--

"If this is going to be my work station, I want it well lit," Tony demanded, voice echoing above the din encompassing the cave. By his side, the stranger translated while she kept to the background, keeping a careful watch on the assembly of a rougher, harsher version of his workshop at home – _his_ home, "I need welding gear; I don't care if it's settling or molding. Sottering station, I'm going to need helmets, I'm going to need goggles. I would like a smelting cup. I need two sets of precision tools."

Around the cave, their captors scurried, carrying out Tony's demands with fearful obedience. From her corner, Pepper's gaze scanned over their faces, committing to memory bent backs and shifting eyes, slowly tracing the hardened lines of their mouth and sunburnt skin. If she closed her eyes – and ignored the steady stream of foreign languages flowing around her – Pepper could almost pretend they were back in Malibu, back to just quietly enjoying the way her boss so easily played people, leaving no room for protest during those rare, entrancing moments he choose to take charge.

Trailing her fingers over the kiln beside her, Pepper froze when a hand skimmed by her back, too low and too close for comfort. A toothy grin and leering eyes met her gaze before vanishing back into the cave's dark corners and for a moment, she remembered a chair, harsh ropes digging her wrists raw and the same leering gaze before the tang of copper filled her mouth and a furious shriek echoed in her ears.

Shifting backwards, Pepper fisted her hand and gave her iciest glare. She was safe here; she was safe here because they needed her damn it, she was safe and she _would not _let that monster touch her again, trail slimy fingers down her cheek and whisper promises in her ear. God help her, she was safe here and –

"It is amazing," the awestruck voice of their new companion rang out beside her, "Is it not?"

Pepper jumped, shifting to watch the casual way he placed his body between her and the wandering terrorists. Softly, his lips curled upwards, the barest hint of a smile grazing his face. His dark, indiscernible eyes lingered on her for a moment, studying her features before pinning Tony with that haunted gaze instead. Studiously observing him together, they stood in silence as seconds ticked by.

"Ton – Mr. Stark does have a way with people," she murmured, cutting herself off. His gaze flickered back to her, one eyebrow rising slightly behind muddied frames in tune with the steady twinkle in his eyes. Encouraged, she continued, "Pepper."

"I mean my name's Pepper," she babbled, cheeks flushing beneath their bruises, "Pepper Potts. It's actually Virginia, really, but nobody's called me that since I started working for Ton – Mr. Stark."

To be honest, she didn't really know _why_ she kept insisting on formalities when they were trapped in a dark, dank cave, prisoners to terrorists and their every whim, but trying to find an answer would mean going into territory she couldn't – _wouldn't_ – explore now, not with so much at stake.

"My name is Yinsen," he replied gently, a hint of a smile ghosting over his face before vanishing. His eyes traced over her features once again, curiosity masked by the stronger, unidentifiable emotions that burned in his eyes. Staring back, her eyes widened imperceptibly. Was that _pity_ lurking on his face? "He asked for you, you know. When he first woke up from the – the surgery. You were the first thing he asked about."

His gaze flickered away once again. Following his line of sight, the unmistakable crimson light of a video camera shone on, quietly recording all that happened in the room.

Suddenly, the cave felt icy instead of unbearably warm, a chill trickling quietly down her spine. Opening her mouth, questions of why and what and _how_ trapped in her throat, Pepper watched as Yinsen gave her a steady, sad curl of lips before pivoting towards Tony, who looked to be arguing with someone about a set of tools.

She watched them a moment more before snapping her eyes shut, her hands bracing against the kiln's walls as her ragged breaths reverberated through her ears.

--

The days, he was shocked to finally realize, were beginning to fly by and melt together into one incomprehensible mess. Picking out the last .15 grams of palladium from the remains of one of his missiles, Tony threw back its container with a satisfying clang as it crashed onto the scattered remains of its brothers in arms. On the floorside pallet, Pepper jolted awake with a strangled gasp, eyes darting back and forth with reckless abandon.

"Tony?" she yawned, voice small and muffled against the roar of the fire, "What – what time is it?"

Fumbling to put down the palladium with the other pieces, Tony glanced at the makeshift clock he'd molded together after the first few days of judging time by the weight of their eyelids and the growls of their stomachs.

"Near breakfast," he announced, quietly watching the way she nodded blearily as her eyelids fluttered shut once more, "Go back to bed."

The normally vibrant strands of copper had begun to take on a dull sheen, tendrils curling into greasy wisps along the curve of her neck and the hollows of her cheeks. Beneath her eyes, shadows blossomed beyond their normal capacity, meshing with the dark splatter of indigo bruises and shallow cuts kissing her cheekbones so that cobalt stood out fiercely against the pale, freckled skin of her face. In the oversized t-shirt and baggy, ragged pants they'd given her in place of her tattered suit, Pepper Potts looked startlingly fragile, a breakable figurine whose limbs folded into her body with careless ease and whose body slumped against the floor without wire strings to hold her up.

Pepper, in typical fashion, had refused his insistence on keeping her away from the work and had spent the better part of the night – at least, what they _thought_ was night – putting together the mold he would need to form the palladium circlet before sagging against the table, nearly dropping her hard work. Hand on the small of her back, the heat of her skin searing through his hands with crystalline clarity, he'd carefully led her to the cot, silently enjoying the gentle whiff of pure Pepper wafting up from her hair. Her slender fingers had curled around his hand as she'd drifted off, and he'd spent some time watching her before Yinsen's quiet cough interrupted the moment. He'd shoved the peaceful, content glow she gave him away then, away to the back of his mind where he couldn't think about the meaning behind the feeling.

Tearing his gaze away from her once more, Tony began placing the palladium in the furnace cup to be melted. A few minutes later, and the first step in his master plan to getting them out of there had been successfully completed. Silence reigned supreme while he wiped his hands off on his pants; running fingers through scraggly hair, he made his way over to Yinsen, the car weight an omnipresent companion by his side. Three plates lay on the bench in precise settings, complete with tin cans of muddied, drab coffee and a thick slice of dark, grainy bread on each platter. In the center lay a pot of beans, the closest they came to a feast these days when their food supply was replenished.

"We'll wait for it to melt together completely, then I'll need you to pour the palladium into the mold Pepper made," he clarified through a chunk of the stale, hard bread. Swallowing, his Adam's apple bobbing in response, Tony washed down the bland taste of his breakfast with the crappy excuse for coffee, worse even then the shit they kept for boardroom meetings. One more thing, on the growing list of many, he was beginning to miss more and more as the days passed by.

"And this is making what exactly?" Yinsen questioned voice light and eyes twinkling. As usual, Tony was sure the man lived to frustrate him, with his all-knowing eyes and habit of sticking his nose in where Tony didn't want it and piercing, casual remarks. It wasn't that the stranger hadn't helped, hadn't given his aide wordlessly, but trust had never come easily to Tony, especially in this hellhole. He wanted – _needed_ – to keep guard for Pepper, to keep her in his sight and his hold because the last time he'd let her go, those bruises had formed and she'd gone from her normal hyperactive self to annoyingly aware of every shadow, every looming corner, to barely being able to sleep because she jumped at every noise, hands up in defense before he'd even gotten a chance to calm her down and reassure her.

He needed to get them out of here, _alive_, and if that meant keeping their only help two feet away for the time being, then so be it.

"You'll see," he responded blandly, eyes drifting back to Pepper's prone form. He wondered over whether he should wake her up, or let her sleep some more. It wasn't like they could do much now, anyways – well, _she_ couldn't do much , at least – but the beans would be cold within an hour and he knew she hated cold beans a smidgeon more than she loathed them hot, "Hey, can you put the beans back on the stove for Pepper? So they're warm when she gets up?"

Yinsen's gaze, if possible, became more analytical than usual, and for a moment, Tony swore he saw pity swell beneath those wire-frame glasses. Choking down an annoyed retort, Tony's face turned defensive when the man simply shook his head softly, eyes unbearably grim.

"Of course," he murmured, lifting the pot back towards its place on the fire.

For a long while, only the soft huffs of Pepper's breath and the hissing crackle of the fire filled the cave.

--

Their days began to ascertain a certain pattern as they passed, and Pepper embraced the routine as she also began to hesitantly embrace the strange comradeship with Yinsen, their fellow prisoner-in-arms, and the steady fall of barriers between the three of them. Once, she had heard that traumatic, or life-changing experiences, could create close human ties that normally take years to develop, and while she didn't doubt the truth of that statement, experience was always different than the textbook reading, she has come to find.

Each day began with her and Yinsen lightly debating over how to spice up their bland selection of bitter coffee dregs, stale bread, and a variety of canned beans that looked quite a lot like the soldier supplies she had seen once, when Rhodey had taken her on a tour of the local base at Tony's insistence. She was positive that if – _when_ (she would not let herself talk of defeat, even within the comfort of her own mind, because it sent shivers sneaking down her spine and fear clenching at her heart) – they escaped from here, she would never be able to look at beans in the same way ever again, and that all coffee passing through her lips would be of the finest quality available because this sludge had already begun the steady process of dulling her tastebuds.

Most days proceeded similarly, Tony working diligently at his creation – which she had begun to notice looked quite a lot like the arc reactor powering the factory back home, except hadn't that technology already been proven to be little more than an unusable, press show-off (He proves her right the day before, announcing his replacement for the car battery and requesting Yinsen perform the operation, while she scrutinizes silently, taking careful notes of how the miniaturized arc reactor fits into his chest cavity. She purposely ignores his subtle hint of 'running something big for fifteen minutes,' and the way her heart starts galloping in response)? Yinsen stands loyal by his side, always ready to lend a steady hand and a calming word, while she handled the smaller jobs, ones that don't require an expensive knowledge of technobabble because while she had progressed considerably farther than the Excel expertise-only accountant, even she began to get cross-eyed when words such as nuclear fission entered the conversation with casual ease. Most days, she prepares lunch and dinner alone, though Yinsen occasionally helps her depending on what part of Tony's mystery project they've been working on. Once night reigns, the work generally stops at her insistence, coupled with prodding reminders of overworking on their meager food supply and guilt-ridden hints of how much worse things could get if one of them were to get ill. Sometimes, they'll share stories, smile and laugh in the quiet over this sorry excuse of a meal, others they'll play games or enjoy the flitting silence, each pretending that the peace of the moment truly exists and the threat hanging overhead has faded away.

Today's been one of the slower days, Tony wrapped up in his mystery blueprints, pages and pages of schematics he refuses to reveal and simply promises that they'll see when he's done. Yinsen's trying to teach her backgammon again, except board games had never particularly been her interest, and even now she's hard pressed to keep track of what to do and how.

"So, Miss Potts," Yinsen began, rolling the dice (He'd insisted on calling her Miss Potts, claiming it befitted her status as a lady, though he occasionally slipped to Pepper at her or Tony's insistence), "You never mentioned why exactly you were here for the missile demonstration. Is that a requirement for most personal assistants?"

Drawing her eyes away from Tony – she had been trying to see the plans, not staring at him, she tried to convince herself – Pepper's brow furrowed. Tapping her fingers lightly on the table, a soft metal ping echoing in the air, she nibbled on her lip gently as she thought it over.

"Sometimes, I go with Mr. Sta – Tony on trips," she slowly explained, changing her words at the last minute (Tony had an annoying habit of knowing exactly when she was calling him Mr. Stark and nagging her until she changed back to Tony. "We're in the middle of nowhere, Potts," he'd exclaimed, face a bit too vulnerable for her comfort underneath his exasperation, "We're friends, all right? If we can't call each other by our first names after all these years, I don't know what we _can_ do anymore." After that, she'd made an effort to call him 'Tony,' ignoring the tug on her heartstrings at the frustrated, quiet look on his face when she slipped back into old formalities out of habit.), "For damage control, mostly. So it's really not that odd. But for this one, Obadiah – the company's CFO – asked me if I would go just in case. The Jericho was a pretty big milestone. With the repulsor technology, it would be the most devastating and far reaching we could get with bombs without entering radiation in as a factor."

Across from her, he nodded, moving his pieces in accordance with the roll. Silence dominated the conversation for a few moments after that before he started up again, just in time for his turn to start. Pepper had become comfortable with this way of communication, Yinsen's measured quips and astute observations an opposing balm to the energy and banter of Tony. It was nice, every once in a while, to plan out an answer and weigh your words before they left your mouth, instead of spitfire responses and the chance of slipping up and revealing too much.

"I believe you're getting better," he remarked, smiling at her. She wasn't sure why, but when they played these games and had their quiet, reminiscing conversations, Pepper remembered lazy Sunday afternoons, full of sunshine flapping through open windows and half-played checkers boards, just enjoying the silence and the company and the lack of need to move and fix and go. She hasn't spent her Sundays like that, however, in a long, long time, and something clenched inside before she dully reminded herself that she had moved past that when she choose the life of her employer over her own.

"Tha –" she began, only to be cut off by Tony shoving aside the game, effectively ruining the set up of the pieces, so he could set down a stack of thin, see-through blueprints, all detailed in different places with different mechanics.

"This is our ticket out of here," he announced, and suddenly the calm atmosphere vanished, gone into the abyss of forced relief and ignorance of the dangers outside the steel door. Shifting, they both stood to surround him, eyes drawn to the golden ticket Tony proposed, his Messiah to their need.

"What is it?" Yinsen questioned, brows furrowed as his gaze trails along the ink lines and schematics.

"Flatten 'em out and look."

His hand pressed down across the papers, meshing them together so that one picture came through, one picture she's sure she's not looking at right because that couldn't possibly be what she thinks it is, couldn't possibly be his solution. Her eyes pinpointed on the circle in the chest's center, and the sickening drop of her stomach sent her heart to her throat because this is only one blueprint, with one power source and they've already used up the palladium to make the arc reactor, and there's really only one answer, but her eyes won't accept it, her mind won't comprehend it, so she changes gears, switching her gaze to his.

His eyes are dark and full of conviction she has so, so rarely seen during the past nine years as his assistant, and she knows that she's not wrong, that she saw right and that this really _is_ his genius plan for getting them out alive. Some small, detached part of her even acknowledges that this is a good plan, a great plan even, and that it solves all the dilemmas like getting shot at and retaliating. He's planning a one-man army strike, one hit to knock them all down, but all she can think of is the haggard lines of his face and the impossibility of this working flawlessly.

His eyes are dark, boring into hers without conviction, and all Pepper knows is that this is the plan, this is the plan and this is how they will work to survive.


End file.
